Forgive Me
by TMBlue
Summary: Ron and Hermione may think that they're free to enjoy their life after the war... but a band of fierce kidnappers has a very different plan for them. Even if they survive, will Ron ever be able to forgive himself for the methods required for their escape?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** My excuse for beginning and posting yet another new story is **rhmac12**'s birthday, which was yesterday :) She requested the first chapter of either this story or another of my pending ideas and I chose this one. I hope you enjoy it, babes. And I hope everyone else does, too! xx_

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**Forgive Me**

He held her hand, tightly. They walked down the lamp lit street in excited, nervous silence. It was the first time they'd really been out together like this, not as friends but as whatever they would be now that things had changed. Though they hadn't discussed it, it seemed clear enough to him. Weeks had passed, soft kisses and fingers linked. And now, freedom was no longer an elusive distant hope, but lingered before them, within easy reach.

He wondered who would speak first. He wondered if she felt the tension rising, as he did, as they passed another couple, finally slipping out of the crowds and into solitude as they turned right.

Where were they going?

He cleared his throat to speak his mind.

"Hermione, where are we going, exactly?"

He felt her fingers move against his, caught her lick her lips out of the corner of his eye, before she spoke.

"Surprise," she said tentatively, and he glanced down at her fully for the first time in several minutes.

Her cheeks were flushed, eyes pointedly focused on the road ahead, not looking over and up to meet his questioning gaze, though he wished she would. He turned back to face their journey with her, allowing her to lead him as his mind drifted away.

_He loved her._

Three simple words, though a thought so huge in discovery that he could replay it with renewed passion on an eternal loop.

She woke him from his repetition with a soft cough, and his eyes darted over as hers darted up. They met, and small identical smiles formed on their faces, reflected at each other for that one quick second before they blushed and turned back to face the road. But suddenly, Hermione's hand tightened in his and she stopped, jerking him slightly with the sudden change in momentum.

"What's up?" he asked, turning into her, keeping a firm grasp on her hand for fear that she'd let go.

She bit her lip and his confused pondering of her sudden stop hopped tracks, reconnecting with his previous line of reiteration:

_I love you._

"I think... maybe..." but instead of completing her thought, she dragged him further down the street, glancing left and right.

"Yes?" he laughed, watching her study her surroundings as if she had never seen them before. "We're lost, aren't we," he finally concluded. He grinned as she raised her eyebrows up at him.

"We're not lost." Her voice wavered, and he knew she was lying.

"It's okay. You can make a mistake every once in a while."

"Ron..." she warned, refusing to meet his amused gaze again as she stopped them once more, sighing.

He waited, rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand, and she met his eyes at last, defeated.

"It was going to be brilliant," she finally said.

"You know," he began, feeling rational, "couldn't we just Apparate, wherever it is?"

But the moment his words left him, Ron heard a strange sort of scratching behind them, like nails against glass. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. But there was nothing, just empty trashcans and closed flat windows.

"Is this a Muggle neighborhood?" Ron asked curiously, at which point a fairly distinctive sound of footsteps, followed by the air disruption of something moving fast, caused Ron to finally drop Hermione's hand for the sake of drawing his wand and turning to face the intrusion, eyes wide and breath coming out fast.

He felt the blow to his head, though he didn't see it. He was instantly face to chest with someone as he doubled over, tripping nearly into his attacker as he tried to regain his balance and maintain consciousness through the haze of stars swimming in his eyes. Hands closed around both of his wrists, and he was suddenly alert again, twisting his arms in an effort to keep ahold of his wand. But it was useless. His right wrist was being squeezed so tightly by the unseen men behind him that his freckles were doubly emphasized against the paling skin of his hand, circulation limited by extreme pressure.

"Hermione!" he shouted, unable to see her, forced to face forward by the man now gripping his shoulders from behind. But then he heard her squeal, the sound obviously minimized by something over her mouth... "Get off her!" he bellowed, though he was only guessing someone was restraining her by he way she sounded.

He could not see her. But at the sound of another terrified squeak from Hermione, somewhere behind him, he attempted with renewed desperation to throw off the three - _or was it four?_ - men who now held him. As he finally looked into the face of the man in front of him, the one whose fist found Ron's hair and yanked up painfully, he felt a wave of panic. He didn't know this person, but the intentions of the lot of them was clear enough in the expression of this man.

"Let's get them to the warehouse," the man said, eyes dark and sunken, hair hidden beneath a black wool cap.

"Let her go!" Ron growled as he felt the arms of the men at his sides clench his own arms tight, abandoning his wrists now that they had what they wanted.

His wand. They had his wand. And he couldn't move. But he watched with helpless horror as the man to his right tossed the wand to the man in front of him.

"Let's go!" said the man, pocketing the wand and ignoring Ron's pleas completely, as if he hadn't heard him.

"Bastards!" Ron shouted, struggling furiously. "What the hell do you want?"

They did not speak, but simply pulled Ron down an alley, past the trashcans he'd spotted and deemed innocent moments before the attack.

"Look, whatever you want, I'll... I'll give you! Just let her go!" Ron begged.

But his feet were propelled down the alley, gravel scraping and ripping at his trainers as he dug his feet heavily into the pavement. Taller than all of his abductors, he finally managed to look back over the head of the man behind him... and he caught a glimpse of Hermione.

Her eyes were wide, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth. And two more men flanked her, half carrying her down the alley, arms linked with hers to force her where they wanted her to go.

His eyes watered at the look of pain and terror on her face, and he tried again to throw off the four - _yes, definitely four_ - men who were forcing him who knew where.

But they had reached their destination, and the man in front of him opened a door, hidden in the recesses of the alley wall, clothed in shadow. Ron was forced through the door before he could struggle again, and he heard a thick metal lock click heavily just after Hermione was shuffled in behind him. A flight of concrete steps descended into blackness before them.

"Fuck you!" Ron screamed. "She's not going down there!"

And finally, the man who was obviously the leader of this band of anonymous assailants grinned and faced Ron directly.

"I don't see how you'll do a damn thing about it," he said coolly.

Ron's eyes burned. How had this happened? Moments ago, _moments_, they'd been walking together, shy and happy, and now...

"Tell me what you want, name it, and I'll do it... if you'll just let her go," Ron said, trying to keep his voice steady. Hermione whimpered next to him, and he was able to meet her eyes again. She moved her head against the man who held her in a very tiny shake. She was terrified... and she didn't want him to do this, to offer himself in her place, as had become customary for him to do. But none of that mattered because he could say nothing that would change their captors' minds...

"No, we won't be letting anyone go," the man in front said, and he gestured towards the men around Ron, beckoning them forward. They began walking Ron again, and he dug in his heels into the concrete in an effort to remain at the top of the stairs.

"What do you want?" he screamed, his frantic voice betraying his attempts to appear calm and in control. He was far from either...

They pushed from behind him, and he was tumbling, held upright by the men at his sides as they descended the stairs. He heard Hermione's muffled sob as she was pushed to follow close behind. He twisted his body to look at her again, hoping to draw something out of the group behind him, the men who had remained silent until now.

"Please, just tell me what you want!"

No one spoke, and he found himself slipping into darkness, the light at the top of the stairs growing smaller as they descended.

"Tell me!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the stairwell as the temperature dropped. "Just tell me!"

Fists clenched his arms tighter, sensing his impending attempt to escape as he looked back again, tried to find Hermione's face in the darkness, but he was unsuccessful. He could see nothing now, nothing but the light at the top of the stairs and the silhouettes of the men behind him.

His body shook, eyes wide. He had to see her again. He'd been sure she was his only strength. Though, somehow, he found himself propelled into limitless madness at the _lack _of her as his feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, pausing as another lock clicked, though he could see nothing. This was his last chance. He could do this.

He relaxed every muscle in his body, slackening to offer the impression of giving up. And then, like a lightning strike, he tensed up every inch of his body and threw himself backwards, knocking over the men behind him and landing on top of them with a crunch of bones against concrete. He wrenched one arm free... but with half a second of realization, he stumbled as something large and sharp collided with the side of his face... and he knew no more, body limp and unable to struggle as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to the fabulous **rhmac12**! *hugs* As soon as I got your message, I typed this up for you. I hope you enjoy it!_

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**Chapter 2**

_...talking about Muggles..._

_...was undercover..._

Two harsh voices must have woken Ron, and he could make out blurred shapes in the distance as he cracked open his eyes, noting that his left eye appeared to be swollen, the lid heavy and strained, brow throbbing wildly above it. His face was pressed to a concrete floor, rough unsanded edges digging into his cheek. He lifted his head, just enough to clear it as he blinked, bringing the blurry shapes into focus.

And he remembered everything.

His trainers skidded against the floor as he jerked up into a sitting position, eyes darting around the small room in an attempt to locate Hermione, but the two men who had been standing halfway across the larger room that adjoined Ron's, suddenly looked over at him, startled by the sounds he was making in his attempt to return to full alertness.

"Oi!" called the shorter of the two men, blond beard and hair, combined with his relative bulk, giving him the look of a Viking. "Is your name Brun?" he asked, glaring across the open space at Ron.

Ron stared back, eyes as wide as his swollen lid would allow, at the man, no idea what he was supposed to say to this strange question. His name certainly wasn't Brun... but _should _it be?

"I think it's him, Ned," said the taller, dark-haired man.

But before any one of them could speak another word, a loud gasp, followed by strangled coughing, sounded out behind Ron. He whipped his head around, straining to see who was there, hidden in the dust and shadow... though he guessed by the pitch of the cough, and some deep second sense of her, something he felt he'd gained one night so distant, locked in a dungeon beneath her desperate cries.

"Hermione? !" He scrambled frantically onto his knees, surely bruising them as he crawled deeper into the darkness, bumping softly against her as he fumbled around on the floor.

"R..on..." she managed through a deep wheeze. And as Ron reached out to touch her face, he heard the footsteps of those two men behind him. He'd almost forgotten.

"Get up," one of them demanded, and Ron was able to find Hermione's glistening eyes with his own, squinting to meet them. She had to understand what he was going to do, that he'd protect her. And he tried with all he had to make her believe him, to give her hope with his gaze. And then he stood, and turned to face his captors.

"What do you want?" he asked evenly, voice sounding hollow and distant to his own ears.

"If you're _him_, you'll already know that," said Ned, scanning Ron carefully.

But a third man approached them, and it was clear from the way the other two parted to let him through, that he was their leader.

"It's him," he said, "and he needs to be briefed."

"Gordon, how do you know-" began Ned, but their leader held up a hand.

"The wand he was carrying, 9 ½ inches, chestnut..." Gordon trailed off, looking Ron over carefully.

Ron considered so many things he could say, all of them useless. He'd been carrying Peter Pettigrew's wand. Though he'd like to have gotten a new one, to disassociate Pettigrew's life from his now that the war was over, he hadn't had the chance. But why the _hell _did Pettigrew's wand now appear to link him, somehow, to this Brun character?

"You know why that's significant, don't you?" Gordon asked, eyes never leaving Ron, though his two companions glanced at each other behind his back. He gave them no more time to think it over. "Brun gave us a list, several months ago. A list that had on it the wands of several wizards. And this wand... the one this man was carrying... it was on the list. You can stop playing a fool, Brun, we know it's you."

Ron swallowed hard. And in a fit of desperation, opened his mouth to reply...

"Well. How do I know you're really the guys, and that I can trust you?"

Gordon smiled slightly as Ron's head pounded with anticipation, heart beating wildly inside his ears. He could hear Hermione breathing sharply behind him, and he _prayed _she trusted him still. She had to.

"We'll show you what we've done," Gordon said, grinning wider as he motioned for Ron to follow him. All three of the men turned and walked back through into the next, well-lit room, and Ron was stuck, holding his breath as he trembled for Hermione. He couldn't leave her here alone. He couldn't...

"What about her?" he asked, gesturing towards the floor behind him.

Gordon turned, a look of disgust filling his features as his eyes dropped to Hermione.

"Leave her. We'll deal with her when we return."

He felt ripped in two, part of him knowing that if he didn't do as these men said, he might endanger himself and Hermione much further. Whatever it was they thought he was here to do, perhaps he could do it and he'd be allowed to leave... and take Hermione with him. He had to gain their absolute trust, and he saw some hope that he'd be able to do that, now that he'd clearly been confused with someone else. But he could almost _feel _the air move around him with each of Hermione's near-silent whimpers. He glanced back, finally, and lowered his eyes to her form, her own eyes lifting to meet his. And he must have adjusted well to the darkness over these past few minutes, because he could see her clearly. He spoke without words, begging her to understand, not to give them away, and to know he'd be with her, even when he walked away.

It could have been a nod that she offered him. He wasn't sure. He wanted to believe it, as much as he'd ever wanted to believe in anything. And he had to let it be what he'd thought it _might_... because if he couldn't _know _she'd be alright, he'd blow it and go to her now.

One chance.

He turned his back on her again, steadying his jaw as he felt his soul nearly ripped from his body to wait with Hermione, and he followed the men into the light... and down a long hallway, out of sight.

"Paul's gotta go back and wait with Louis, Mark and Hugh. They're the ones who brought Brun and the lady down from the street," Ned said to Gordon as they walked, a few paces ahead of Ron.

"Go," Gordon said dismissively, and Paul turned off down a side hall, disappearing at a jog. And before Ron could really steady his jagged breathing, Gordon turned back towards him, meeting his eyes over his shoulder as he continued down the hallway. "You came unarmed?"

Ron thought desperately of Pettigrew's wand, his only defence, which had been taken from him, clearly, and was now being put to some unknown purpose...

"Just the wand," he said, and Gordon laughed, stopping as he reached a tall wooden door on the right.

Gordon grinned at Ron, and Ron instinctively grinned back, needing to fit whatever idea it was that they had of Brun, following Gordon's lead at every opportunity.

Gordon leaned against the door, turning the handle and opening it. It was nearly pitch black behind the doors, and the room smelled of dust and mold, stale water and...

Ron held his breath, pounding heart stopping dead in his throat. He clenched his shoulders and begged his stomach not to lose control. He knew that smell... didn't he?

_Death._

"We've killed them all, Brun," Gordon hissed in Ron's ear, somehow behind him now, pushing him gently closer, further into the room. Gordon's voice was laced with delight, all pretense of power and leadership dropping away as some version of blood lust oozed to the surface, contained in every syllable.

Ron's foot hit something solid, and though he couldn't see anything anyway, he closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten. Horror rolled through his body, and he _knew_. He knew exactly what he'd touched, what he was standing over.

He thought of Hermione, of how she'd smiled at him just this evening, on their way out the door... the way she'd kissed him so gently outside the Burrow just before sunset. Her lips were so soft and warm, her hands so cool through his hair, slowly moving around his neck. She'd stood on her tiptoes, locking her elbows around his shoulders then as she'd tugged him down to meet her...

But suddenly, Gordon shoved Ron hard in the back, half-cackling with sadistic joy. Ron's eyes slid open, and he could no longer forget. His image of Hermione was replaced with one of her body crumpled against the floor of a manor, crying out in pain. And Ron could not stop the tremors that began somewhere close to his heart, wracking him with the pain of memories.

Gordon took a step back, and with a whispered "Ned", the bulbs hanging overhead clicked on, filling the room with stark white light.

Death, in every crevice, every crack, every corner.

Ron felt fortunate to still be able to lose some small particle of control as his eyes filled with tears, blurring the sight before him, distancing him from the nightmares all around him.

Bodies littered the soiled floor, twisted and mangled, blood caking their clothing.

Ron bit his lip and wiped a roughened hand across his face before swallowing hard, and turning back to face the two men who'd brought him here, who had, in an instant, both taken away his hope of escape _and _made him strong enough to face anything they could lead him towards.

"Okay," Ron said, nodding. "You're them. I trust you."


End file.
